


... If Only in My Dreams

by teas_me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blanket Permission, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grieving, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teas_me/pseuds/teas_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Christmas morning, George feels like everyone will be waiting for him to give them all some sort of sign that the day can continue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	... If Only in My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mini-Fest 2012. Prompt given from kingzgurl: Christmas without Fred.
> 
> I completely stepped out of my comfort zone to write this, and I'm so completely proud of it. It was an emotional journey that I can't have gone through without crazyparakiss and tryslora.

_It's Christmas morning and the small sitting room in the Burrow is cramped and already full of people still dressed in their nightclothes as George and Fred make their way down the rickety stairs. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are sitting on the floor in front of the tree, Ron gesturing wildly about whatever it is they are talking about while the contents of their Christmas stockings litter the floor between them. Fred is laughing as he runs past George for his own stocking and joins the others on the floor, patting a spot next to him and smiling up at Fred.  
  
The image fades and when it comes back into focus again, the entire family is sitting at the table. The food and dishes have been cleared away and now Mum and Dad, Bill, and Charlie are enjoying their eggnog, while the rest of them have minted hot chocolate. Mum waves her wand and Christmas crackers float through the air -- one landing at each place setting. Fred immediately snatches George's from the table and grins madly. At first, George is upset -- his cracker was taken -- but Fred's smile is infectious and George smirks while he swipes away Ron's.  
  
The scene fades yet again and this time, everyone is relaxing -- chatting quietly or resting. George looks around and instead of Fred next to him on the sofa, a small silvery wisp of a spotted animal with funny looking ears is curled up next to him and George strokes it's rough fur. The animal looks up and cocks it's head to the side focusing intently on George before doing something that can only be described as grinning before it nips George's finger._  
  
George jolts up out of bed, and it takes a moment for him to catch his breath. He looks at his finger expecting to see _something_ , but it looks fine -- just like any of his other fingers. His eyes drift around to the other bed on the opposite side of the room. It's made immaculately. Definitely not slept in the night before, or any other night recently.  
  
He runs his hands through his hair and scrubs at his face, sighing sadly. He knows he's got to go downstairs. Knows he has to greet everyone and play nice. He feels like everyone will be waiting for  _him_  to give them all some sort of sign that the day can continue. George rolls from bed and goes over to the door where his slippers are -- Fred's are still there too. In the eight months since  _it_  happened, nothing has changed.  
  
All the voices fade to silence as soon as George steps off the landing. They all turn to look at him and he wishes they would just stop. He wants to stand there and yell at them all and just ask them what they're all thinking -- how could they even think of celebrating when... But how can he when he can't even finish that thought?  
  
"Happy Christmas," George mumbles, and it's like the heaviness in the air dissipates and the soft murmur of voices begin again.  
  
He goes over to hug and kiss his mum and she smiles a soft, watery smile. "Happy Christmas, Georgie," she says and pats his cheek.   
  
Happy Christmas, indeed.  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
It's late in the evening when George can finally sneak outside. The presents are all unwrapped and little trinkets are laying about the sitting room floor. Dinner has been eaten and so has pudding, which he almost cocked up when he asked why there were only twelve settings at the table instead of thirteen. Everyone had stopped what they were doing when he said that, before he flushed and quickly apologized.  
  
Now, everything's all done and everyone's just relaxing in the sitting room in front of the fireplace. They're going to tell stories and sing carols and things. It was Fleur's idea and he wants no part of it. He doesn't want to hear any happy stories or sing festive songs. And he doesn't want to hear Dad tell "The Night Before Christmas" when he doesn't have a partner to yell out inappropriate words at precise moments. None of it means anything anymore. Not to him, at least.  
  
He wraps his jacket and scarf tightly around him and slips out the back door and onto the patio. George looks up into the sky and there are fluffy flakes of snow falling down and landing on his face. For a moment he thinks about sticking his tongue out and catching a few flakes, but then decides against it. Instead, he sighs, his breath leaving his mouth and swirling in the cold air like smoke rising. George watches as the whorls of breath rise and disappear into nothing and frowns.  
  
He's tired.  
  
He's cold.  
  
But he doesn't care because outside here in the cold, he doesn't have to deal with the fake smiles and holiday cheer.  
  
George heard about people's Patronuses changing because of major life events. After all, there was Snape and his Doe and Tonks's Werewolf. He wonders if his coyote has stayed the same.   
  
George reaches inside his jacket and slides out his wand, turning it over in his hand. The wood still feels the same between his fingers -- smooth in all the right places. He flicks it sharply and a bright rainbow of sparks shoot from the tip. George thinks of how he and Fred tried to beat the age ring to enter the Triwizard Tournament, how they zipped though the Great Hall on their brooms as they left Hogwarts for the final time, how they opened their shop and Wheezes was a success.  
  
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he draws his wand and says, clearly and determinedly, " _Expecto Patronum_!"   
  
George makes the wand movement effortlessly and a stream of silver erupts from the tip. It swirls around him, but before it even attempts a corporeal shape, the magic dissipates like vapour -- like his breath leaving him and fading into the cold night air.  
  
He tries the charm a second time. This time his voice is more demanding as he forces the memories to the fore. The stream of magic from his wand is weaker; it doesn't swirl before fading.  
  
There are a few other memories George thinks he can use. Things about Fred that only the two of them know.  
  
And he thinks about them. The memories bring a smile to his face.  
  
But when George calls the charm out a third time and only a very faint wisp of silver leaves his wand and disappears just as quickly, he's suddenly broken.  
  
He lets the piece of wood slide from his fingers and clatter to the ground.  
  
George can't move for what seems like a very long time. He just stands there.  
  
It’s not until his mum comes outside and makes a fuss because he’s standing out in the cold that he is finally resigned. "Pick up your wand, Love, and we'll go inside."  
  
He mindlessly does what he's told and lets her bundle him up and bring him inside by the fire to warm up.  
  
George leaves his wand sitting downstairs when he finally goes up to his room to bed.


End file.
